" I rake my hands across his biceps and down his pecs. Water and sand crumble to shimmery, granular trails along his chest hair in my wake. As I touch him, his breath catches and his long, dark eyelashes close in exquisite agony.
I splay my fingertips and open my palm to match his cigarette burns to my scars. His muscles answer with tiny twitches, every part of him strong where I’m soft.
“Jeb.”
He opens his eyes and we lock gazes.
“This is why we fit. Because we’re both damaged, in a way that can’t be healed. "

― A.G. Howard , Ensnared (Splintered, #3)